


Stars and Satellites

by orphan_account



Series: Stars and Satellites [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Family, I'd add that it's a bit of a 'Coffee Shop AU' but I'm not sure if it is, M/M, Romance, Some Fluff, Some angst, Some humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs a break, so he takes a road trip, ends up in a small hamlet in the Northwest Territories, opens a Coffee Shop, fights with a radiator, and finds family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Won't Be Long Before I'm On My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who started a new story right before Exam Week?! If you guessed me you're right. I'm kinda nervous about posting this though I'm not sure why, so leaving a review would be awesome.

It started off as a stupid idea. A road trip, like the ones he and Sammy used to take in the summer when they were kids, to clear his head. With all the shit going on... he needed it. So he packed all his belongings into the back of his car one morning and started to drive without saying goodbye.

That night, he called Sam from a motel in Cincinnati, Ohio.

“Oh, thank _God_ , Dean! We thought you'd died!” Sam exclaimed the moment he picked up the phone (on the first ring, too, Dean noted).

“Hey, nice to talk to you, too,” he joked. “I'm on a road trip.”

“You could have told someone!”

Dean shrugged even though his brother couldn't see. “I'll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Do you know how long you'll be gone?”

“Haven't really thought about that part.” And then he hung up. 

* * *

 

He only just remembered to call Sam the next night before crashing in a motel just outside New York City. It was about eleven PM and he'd spent all day driving, so no one could really blame him, but he knew that Sam expected a phone call.

He didn't wanna talk, but he also wanted to make sure he had the right number, so he waited until his brother started to talk on the other end before saying, “Not dead yet,” and hanging up the phone. 

* * *

 

Getting across the boarder into Canada made the next trip longer, though he arrived in Toronto, Ontario early enough to actually have a regular-length phone call with his brother. The next day, he went to Sault St Marie, then to Thunder Bay. He crossed into Manitoba to stop by in Winnipeg, then on the Saskatoon, Saskatchewan because he liked the name.

After Saskatoon, he made the five hour drive to Edmonton, Alberta and spent the rest of the day off, walking around town and taking in the Canadian sights. He'd never been in the country before, and up 'till now his only view of it was quickly passing through the car window. It was fall, so everything was colourful and he had to admit that there was a certain visual appeal to the country. Or so he thought so far. The snow that was _already_ falling wasn't exactly a drawing point, though.

From Edmonton, he drove to the first 'no name town' on his road trip. A small hamlet on the edge of Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories. He stopped for the night in a motel and for the first time he realized how stupid it was for him, someone who'd spent all their life in Kansas, to go so far North in _November_ ; it was _snowing_ for fucks sake. When he called Sam that night, he mostly complained about the weather. Then he proceeded to pile the bed with blankets before hiding himself in them. He debated calling house cleaning for more, since he wasn't nearly warm enough, but decided that he was too comfortable to move after a long day of driving and fell asleep. 

* * *

 

At some point in the night, during fits of wakefulness caused by the cold, he'd decided that this would be the top of his journey and that he'd start heading down south again soon. He was getting low on snacks and other little things, so he also decided to take the day off and go into the little hamlet. There were no signs for anything, and there was snow on the ground, so the ride in wasn't much fun, but there were very few side roads to get lost on and he eventually found what he guessed was 'main street' though it was only six buildings; three on either side of the road.

On one side there was a library, the city hall, and then the fire/police departments (which looked like one building). The other side had a coffee shop, a general store, and bar and grill called The Roadhouse.

First, he visited the general store to top up on 'road trip food' (all of which could give him a heart attack, as Sam had reminded every time they'd gone out as kids). He was served by a grumpy looking Asian kid who's name tag read 'Kevin'. Leaving the groceries in the backseat of his car, he then crossed the road to the library, thinking that maybe he could find a book or two to take with him as mementos of his journey. Up until this point, the only place he'd stopped was Edmonton, and honestly he'd spent most of that time relaxing. Despite the fact that the purpose of the trip was to _forget_ , he wanted to remember it.

Inside the library was warm and he had to take off his jacket, though he didn't know where to put it. He didn't want to just carry it around, and it was too warm in the building to put it back on. Dean was about to give up the battle and just carry it when a deep, gravelly voice spoke from behind the library counter.

“Just put it on the coat stand,” the man instructed. Dean looked up, startled because he hadn't seen the other man when he'd entered. It wasn't really his fault, because the guy had his head buried in a book and had been completely silent. But now that he _had_ spoken up, Dean couldn't believe that he'd missed him; because _damn_ , he was really attractive. All sex hair and blue eyes.

It took Dean a moment to realize that he'd been staring, so he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I'll, uh.... I'll do that.” The coat stand was right next to the entrance; he couldn't really believe that he'd missed it _and_ the attractive man behind the counter. Maybe it was the lack of sleep from all the driving catching up with him. Yeah. That explained all of this.

The only other coat on the stand was a beige trench coat, and how someone could survive wearing only that in the current weather was beyond him; he'd been shivering in his leather jacket with two layers of clothing underneath even that.

When he walked up to the counter, the man had already re-immersed himself in the book he was reading, so Dean cleared his throat _again_ to get his attention (and he could tell that he was really going to have a sore throat in the morning from all the clearing he was doing). The man's head snapped up, and his curious blue eyes met Dean's. “What can I help you with?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Do you guys sell books here?”

The man nodded. “Go to the back, right corner.” And then he was back in his book. 

* * *

 

Dean ended up buying a book of poems because he hadn't seen anything else remotely interesting and he didn't want to leave empty-handed. The up side was that he only had to give Blue Eyes a dollar for it before heading back to the motel to call Sam. On the phone, Dean told him that this was probably the northern-most stop on his trip and that he'd be home in a week or two, depending on the route he took and so on.

Instead of lounging around the room all day, he went back to main street and decided to spend the afternoon in the coffee shop. It was run by an old man who let him silently sit and sip coffee, for which he was gratefully. About an hour and a half after he'd arrived, Blue Eyes walked in, said hello to the old man, chatted with him a bit, got a coffee and went to sit down. But when he saw Dean, he walked over to him and sat across from him.

“Are you moving here?” he asked, doing this little head-tilt thing that made him look a bit like an owl. ( _An adorable owl_ , Dean thought).

Dean shook his head. “No, just passing through.”

Blue Eyes nodded a little, like Dean was confirming his hypothesis. “I'm Castiel, by the way.” He reached the hand that wasn't clutching coffee over the table top.

“Dean.” He took the other man's hand and shook it firmly, noticing that they were strong and not entirely soft. “Nice to meet you, Cas.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a minute before Cas decided to speak up. “Where are you from? If you don't mind my asking, that is.”

“Lawrence, Kansas,” Dean answered easily. He didn't care if people knew his hometown; that wasn't exactly his 'biggest secret'. “Are you from here, or somewhere else?”

“I'm Canadian, if that's what you're asking. But I was born and raised in Toronto, Ontario.”

“I went through Toronto on my way up here; why'd you leave?” It was meant to just be a casual way for Dean to show appreciation for the city, but when the other man tensed slightly, Dean realized that he may have hit a nerve. “Sorry; you don't have to answer that,” he amended quickly.

Cas gave him a small, thankful smile. “No, it's okay. I just didn't get along with my family very well; we wanted different things. I knew someone who lived here when I was in University and I thought that this could be my 'perfect escape'.”

“Is it?”

“I've been here for seven years, and I don't know yet.” 

* * *

 

They talked well into the evening, until the old man (Mister Brown, Cas had told him during the course of the afternoon) kicked them out. Even then, they just walked down the street to the bar and continued talking there. The only change was that their conversation was over beer and burgers instead of coffee.

A middle aged woman named Ellen was working the bar, and she'd stopped to talk to Cas for a bit when they'd first walked in. She was really brash, which seemed to make Cas a bit uncomfortable, and Dean took a liking to her immediately. There was also a younger girl, little older than Sam, tending the bar, though Dean never got introduced to her. He didn't mind, though, because Cas was telling him stories and sometimes other patrons of the bar would chip in with an anecdote to do with it. Apparently more things happened in a small hamlet than he'd thought. 

* * *

 

He stayed in town the next day, too, talking to Cas at the library, Mr Brown in the coffee shop, and listening to stories being told by large groups of mildly intoxicated people at the bar. The girl's name was Jo, he learnt from her drunken additions to story-telling. She was Ellen's daughter, and she wanted to travel more than anything.

He didn't realize what was happening when he didn't immediately hit the road that day; wrote it off as continued relaxation time after a week of non-stop driving. But he didn't leave the day after that, either. It wasn't until the morning of his fourth day there that he realized something very, very important. 

* * *

 

That's how he ended up in city hall for the first time. It was one of those buildings that had obviously been designed and built in the sixties; ugly and garish and 'modern'. The interior was no different, with ugly speckled white-and-blue tiles and the kind of ceiling tile that Dean associated with schools and hospitals.

The only other person in the room was a gangly man, bit younger than Dean, who was chatting away into a phone with a voice that instantly grated on Dean's nerves.

“No, I told you to pick it up at the – hold on, Mark, someone's here. I'll call you later.” He hung up and looked at Dean. “Yes?”

“Two things,” Dean stated. “One,” he held up his index finger on his left hand, “do you have any houses for sale in the area. And two,” he added his middle finger, “how do you get a Canadian Citizenship?” 

* * *

 

The house was easy; there was a small shack-like thing about fifteen minutes out from town that no one lived in and was owned by the municipality.

“It's a real fixer-uper but it'll do you good,” Garth had told him. “You'll need to build a garage for your car, though. Winters here won't be good for it out in the open. I'll get you the building permits with the citizenship papers. I recommend you stay in the motel tonight and maybe tomorrow, at least until we get the hydro on in that house.”

Dean knew that that was important – it was cold enough in a motel _with_ heating – but he didn't particularly care in that moment. He just went with Garth to city hall, which doubled as a bit of a bank and was apparently connected to both the fire and police departments, gave him the money for the house, took the keys, and decided to go to the library to tell Cas what he'd done. It had only been a few days, but he was already starting to feel close to the guy. He was a bit awkward at times, but a nice enough guy.

As he was walking, he noticed something that he hadn't before. Maybe it was just that he hadn't been looking, had thought he'd be leaving after twenty-four hours. But in the window of the coffee shop was a red 'Help Wanted' sign, hung in such a place that it should have been impossible to miss. Instead of turning right to go to the library, he went left into the coffee shop and went straight up to Mr Brown.

“I'd like to apply for the job,” he said.

The older man looked startled. “I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't help you there. I'm closing down this old shop for good; no one comes here anyway.”

“I'll buy it from you.” His tone was matter-of-fact and left no room for argument.

Mr Brown laughed, shocked. “If you're that determined, I'll just give it to you!” 

* * *

 

“Hey, Sam? I, uh.... I think I'm staying here.”


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still kinda 'set up' for the story, sorry! Also, the story is called 'Stars and Satellites' for the song of the same name by Dan Griffin. Last chapter is called 'Hello, I'm in Delaware' for the song by City & Colour, and this one is 'Home' for the song by Mumford & Sons. There is a whole playlist for the story that I will release... when I'm finished it. It's got six or seven songs right now.
> 
> Still nervous about this story, so reviews are much appreciated!

 “What?!” Sam demanded.

“I'm staying here,” Dean repeated calmly.

For whatever reason, this made Sam mad. “I thought this was just a road trip!” he exclaimed. His voice turned almost accusing. “You said you'd be back soon.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably even though his brother couldn't see. Actually, it was easier that way since he didn't have to keep the movement internalized when no one could see him. “I know, I know... but I like it here. I have a house, and a job, too, so it's actually too late to protest.”

On the other end of the line, Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth and Dean could easily visual which Bitchface he was using (number thirty seven). “Okay. Then what's the purpose of this phone call?”

“Well, you're my brother and you deserve to know that I'm moving, for one thing. The other thing is that I need you to pack up my apartment and ship it up here. Or take a road trip yourself to bring it up.”

“You know I can't leave Amelia alone for that long,” Sam complained (and there was Bitchface Number Thirteen, a personal favourite of Dean's). “There's too much left to prepare for when the baby comes.”

Dean let out a long, melodramatic sigh. “I could get Benny to do it, but I'd make sure he knew to charge gas to you.”

That comment caused Sam to make Bitchface Number Twenty-Four, one reserved for when Dean was being deliberately difficult. Which meant it got used often. “I can't afford that; do you know how much a baby costs? And Benny hates me, anyway. You _know_ that. He'd drive extra miles just out of spite, to charge me more.”

“Who else could I get to do it, though? It's you or Benny. My only options, here.”

“Pretty sure you have other friends than your kid brother and ex-cellmate.”

“Pretty sure I've never been to jail,” Dean mocked. “And no, I actually don't. I know, my social life is sad. There's you, your wife, my _college roommate_ , and Bobby and Jody. And you know if I ask Bobby, he'll have Rufus do it for him.”

“Bobby misses you; I think he'd head up himself if you asked. Probably bring Jody with him, too,” Sam said offhandedly, but it was clear it was more than an 'offhanded' comment; he was trying everything to _not_ have to deliver his brother's things.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, accepting the knowledge that Sam didn't want to help him. “Fine. I'll ask.” 

* * *

 

They hung up after some more idle chit-chat, mostly about how Amelia was dealing with having a basketball where her stomach should be, then Dean called Bobby and was relieved to hear that he'd be down in a week with the contents of Dean's apartment, though Bobby did chew him out about leaving him without his best mechanic. The good thing about Bobby was that he didn't pry too deep or ask too many questions; he just accepted that this was something Dean was doing, something he _needed_ to do, and moved on.

After he hung up, he went into town to get 'Coffee Shop Lessons' from Mr Brown. Though he knew all there was to know about owning a business from working at Bobby's auto shop his whole life, he didn't know how to use fancy coffee machines. He'd been worried about baking, because he couldn't do that worth anything, but Mr Brown had assured him that it was taken care of; he already had someone who did that.

Dean mastered the coffee machine fairly quickly, though he wasn't up to anything intricate yet. Really, he was just lucky that it had clearly labelled buttons. 

* * *

 

When Cas walked in around five o'clock, he watched Dean's antics with amusement. The only response to that that Dean had was to occasionally throw him dirty looks.

For all the efforts, the sweat and the tears, Dean managed to master some of the more creative drinks. He could add foam effortlessly and drizzle little patterns with the different sauces. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and he could build on it on his own later on. His pride at the little accomplishment made the others laugh at him, but he didn't care.

“I used to do this in college,” he boasted at one point, and it wasn't entirely a lie. There had been one summer, after his first year, that he'd worked in a little coffee shop for a month. He'd only shown up to work four times during that whole time, but he'd learnt the basics.

When it came closing time for the shop, they hadn't had any customers and actually no one else at all had entered the shop. This lead Dean to question Mr Brown on the existence of his pastry chef.

“I told her to take the day off,” the old man responded. “I knew I'd be training you all day _and_ that we wouldn't be able to sell any, no matter how good they are. It was easier for her to stay home; for the last week she's only been coming in the mornings, anyway. I think that it'll be a while yet before you'll need her full time.”

Dean nodded along with what he was saying. “When'll I get to meet this mysterious chef?”

“At the shop? Probably tomorrow. I think that today was enough of a training session; you can make coffee well enough and are good with people. In reality? You could meet her anytime between now and then; it's a small town.” 

* * *

 

At the bar, an hour later, Dean listened to the people tell a story about a time the ice on the lake broke and they had to rescue one of the townsfolk from it and that to this day, his tractor was still resting at the bottom.

“Probably rusted up now,” the man stated soberly, taking a large swig of his drink. The whole time the story had been told, people kept sending him looks and laughing and patting his shoulder; trying to apologize for embarrassing him while at the same time conveying that they weren't actually sorry. A funny store demands to be told, after all.

It had been less than a week, but Dean already felt he fit well with these people, which was strange because he was, by nature, a very private person, and his whole reason for taking the road trip that had landed him there was to bury secrets. But there wasn't even the hint of privacy in this community, and he found that he was strangely okay with that. 

* * *

 

He'd been told to report to the shop at six A.M sharp the next morning, so he was up at four thirty to get ready. There was convenience in the fact that he was living out of the motel, since he could just ask for a wake-up call. Garth had told him that he'd have the papers for his new house by the end of the week, and for that Dean was glad. The only set back was that he had to wait for Bobby to get up there with his things before moving in, but hopefully the two events would coincide. Then again, when had things ever gone right for him in his life?

Dena hadn't even thought hard about his past the whole time he'd been there. That didn't mean that he didn't think about his family, because he did. But he didn't think about the things he was trying to forget, and for once it wasn't because he was repressing them. 

* * *

 

The pastry chef was already in the shop when Dean arrived at five to six. Or, at least, that's who Dean assumed it was. She was standing behind the counter wearing a green apron, so he figured 'chef' was a good guess.

“Dean Winchester,” he said with a charming smile, reaching across the counter to shake her hand.

“I know who you are,” she answered, crossing her arms. He was about to awkwardly drop his arm, resigned to the fact that she hated him when he'd only given his name, but at the last minute she grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. “Linda Tran.” 

* * *

 

When Cas walked into the shop that afternoon, as he always did, he found Dean covered head to toe in flour, wearing a face-splitting grin.

“I tried to steal a cupcake. She tried to teach me to bake. Neither of us succeeded,” Dean rattled off without prompt, knowing that the other man would be curious. They hadn't known each other long – it'd been less than a week – but there was definitely a bond there.

Cas just nodded like he understood what Dean was talking about. “I'll have two cupcakes and a black coffee, then, thank you,” he announced matter-of-factually.

“I got you with the coffee, and the cupcakes should be done cooling soon. _Linda!_ ” He called the woman's name in a teasing singsong voice.

When she walked out of the back, Cas saw that she was also covered in flour, though not as dramatically as Dean. Her covering wasn't so much as if a white sheet had been draped over her entire body as it was smudges here and there on her arms, face, and apron. She crossed her arms sternly and gave Dean an impatient look. “If you're just trying to charm me out of pie, then you're outta luck. Thought you would have learned that earlier.”

Dean's answering grin was one of mock-innocence that spoke of the lack thereof that lay behind it. “Cas here ordered two cupcakes.”

Linda fixed him with a look that made Cas have flash backs to strict teachers in catholic grade school. He looked down at his toes, fidgeting nervously, wanting to be anywhere but there. Wanting to apologize, but he didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling sorry for. She hadn't yet accused him of anything, after all.

“Cas, are you enabling this young mans cupcake addiction?” she asked, her tone low and serious though her words made it clear she was teasing. He felt himself relax easily and looked back up to the others to see Dean holding back laughter and Linda with a small smile on her face.

He couldn't help but smile back timidly as he answered, “Yes.” The serious and grave tone of his voice caused the others to let go of their laughter. His smile grew wide and genuine, pleased with himself at making them laugh, even if it _was_ at his own expense.

Linda disappeared back into the kitchen with a muttered, “I'll let you get away with it this time,” and then Dean handed him his coffee with a smirk.

“How was librarianing today?” he asked with a dopey grin.

Cas decided to let the other man off the hook that afternoon for the horrible grammar, seeing as he'd gotten into and lost a fight with a woman he could probably lift using only one hand. No need to further damage his fragile, manly ego.

“Boring,” he answered honestly. “It's too quiet in there, sometimes, and I want to turn on the radio but it's not allowed.”

“Who would know? You're there alone all day.” Dean seemed genuinely confused by this. Of course, Cas thought, he was probably used to breaking the rules and doing what he wanted regardless of what was 'allowed'.

“I would know,” he replied easily. “And I'd feel guilty about it every time I saw Garth. He runs just about everything here. On the surface, he seems a bit....” Cas struggled for the right words and looked to Dean for assistance, even though the other man had only met the 'Sheriff' once.

“Not all there?” he offered, leaning against the glass shelving unit used to display pastries. It was currently mostly empty.

The librarian nodded. “Close enough. Really, he's very smart and resourceful. Though you tend to forget that when he takes out his sock puppet.”

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. “He has a sock puppet? I'm getting my citizenship papers from a man with a _sock puppet_?”

Cas nodded gravely. Though, really, everything he did could be described as 'grave'; he didn't have the most cheerful demeanour. “Yes and yes. It's name is Mister Fizzles. He uses it when he thinks someone needs to be coerced into something. It's actually kind of frightening.”

“It would be. I hope I never need to meet it.”

“If you live here for any continued amount of time, you probably will.” 

* * *

 

Not much later, they went to the bar and Dean made nice with the townsfolk. They all seemed happy that he was moving in and that made him glad. He wasn't sure why – he didn't need their approval, after all – but he was finding that he liked them. Liked the way everyone knew everyone else, the easy camaraderie. In all honesty, he'd forgotten what it was like to smile and laugh, with all that had happened. But, here, with these people, it was starting to come back. 


	3. The Death of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran a bit long, so I decided to cut it off. The last scene runs into the beginning of ch4, though. I just thought it was a good line to finish with. Don't worry; it's no cliffhanger.
> 
> Chapter title from 'The Death of Me' by City and Colour 'cause I think that that song fits Dean really well, and this was a really introspective chapter.

 Dean was just closing up shop, chatting casually with Cas as he did so, when the bell that signalled the opening of the door rang. He looked up to see a very familiar figure approaching and his face broke out in a grin. Hopping over the counter easily, he pulled the gruff man into a firm hug.

“Jodie's in the truck,” he grumbled when he was let go.

The younger man grinned. “It's good to see you, too, Bobby.” Then he remembered that there was someone else in the shop. “Cas, this is my uncle, Bobby. Bobby, this is Castiel,” he said, hastily making introductions.

Bobby offered him a nod, to which Cas replied pleasantly with, “It's good to meet you, sir.”

“Don't 'sir' me.” He sighed. “C'mon boys let's go get this shit to Dean's new house.”

Dean removed his apron, stuffed it in a bin under the counter, and took his car keys out of his pocket. He lobbed them easily to Cas who, in turn, caught them awkwardly against his chest. “Go wait in Baby, I'm just gonna go see if anyone at the Roadhouse wants to help.”

Cas nodded and went out the back door. During the whole exchange, Bobby was giving him an odd look.

“What?” Dean asked, searching back a few seconds to see if he'd done anything strange.

Bobby just shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. Go on, then. I'll be in the U-Haul.”

With a nod, Dean accepted that it was just Bobby being his usual, surly self. He herded him out of the shop and into the truck, offering Jodie a quick kiss on the cheek before running down to the Roadhouse, sticking his head in, and gathering Jo and two well-built men to help with moving things. One of those men ended up in the back of Bobby's truck while the other joined Jo in the backseat of the Impala. Luckily for them, Cas had taken the initiative to start the car so that it was warmed up when they got there. 

* * *

 

It didn't take very long to unload the U-Haul into Dean's new little house. He had exactly four boxes of _things_ and the rest of it was his larger pieces of furniture. The hardest things to get into the house were his dinning room table and his couch, though with a bit of creativity they did manage it. Bobby had regretfully informed him that his laundry hamper had shattered on the way up, and they found pieces of blue plastic all over in the truck bed that had confirmed the older man's story.

He didn't want to, but he had to park the Impala on the grass next to the shack. It was only for a little while, he assured the car, just until the building permits were all ready and he had wood. Bobby had been thoughtful enough to bring up his toolbox from the salvage yard, knowing that though Dean wouldn't need all his old tools – what with the change in profession and all – he'd inevitably need _some_. It was part of being a homeowner, after all.

After everything was inside, they went back into town. He dropped the men and Jo off at the Roadhouse, and Bobby and Jodie at the motel. Then he went and grabbed his duffel bag and few random odds-and-ends from his room before signing out.

When he got back to the car, he realized that he'd forgot something. Or, really, some _one._ A certain blue-eyed librarian was sitting quietly in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean slid into the drivers seat slowly, letting out a huff of air. “Cas, why didn't you tell me I forgot about you?”

“You seemed preoccupied,” he answered, as if this was a perfectly legitimate answer.

He nodded, licking his lips and flexing his grip on the steering wheel. “Well... do you want me to take you back to the library?”

Cas shook his head. “No. I closed up for the night.”

“Uhm.... do you wanna come help me build furniture?” Dean asked, struggling for something to offer. He'd take the other man home but there was _something_ that lead Dean to believe he didn't want to go, not yet.

“That sounds agreeable,” he answered, but there was an undertone in his voice that suggested it was more than that.

“Okay, cool.... I just have to go swing by the store to pick up some stuff,okay?” 

* * *

 

At the general store Kevin served them with his usual surly demeanour as Dean bought the things he'd need for dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. Since the fridge wasn't yet set up, he had nowhere to store perishables, so he was holding off on buying those for the time being. The handymen were scheduled to come in and set his things up the next day, so it wasn't long that he had to wait.

When they left town again, Cas was following Dean in his car, which was a beater on its best days. The hood was a different colour than the rest of the car, and there was rust almost everywhere. With the added fact that it was obvious from sight alone that the rims weren't balanced, Dean was actually fearing for his friends life in that car. Maybe it was the life-long mechanic in him.

He commented on it as soon as they were both out of their cars, but Cas only shrugged. “I've had it for ten years, bought it myself. It's mine.”

“Yeah, but you can get it fixed without getting a new car. My car's older than that and in better shape,” Dean stated with a vague gesture towards his '67 Chevy Impala.

That made Cas look down, embarrassed. “I can't exactly afford that right now.”

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Well, uh.... Let's get started on the furniture then, alright?”

Cas smiled at him, thankful for the abrupt subject change. “Yes.” 

* * *

 

As it turned out, putting together the furniture mostly comprised of _Dean_ putting it together alone while Cas handed him tools, and often the wrong ones because apparently he didn't know the different kinds of screwdrivers. For the first time in a long time, Dean found himself referring to screwdrivers by the shape of their head as opposed to their actual name. It was very frustrating, but he enjoyed the company enough to let it go. Even if Cas spent a lot of the time sitting Indian style on the floor watching him, which should have made him uncomfortable but didn't. It was just one of the things that he'd come to accept Cas _did_.

They stopped for a while to make supper, which consisted of ham and cheese sandwiches on white bread.

“I swear I can cook,” Dean defended. “It's just been a long day. And I don't have food. But come over Friday night when everything's all nice and pretty here and I'll cook you some real food.”

Cas smiled. “I'd like that.” 

* * *

 

When Dean woke up in the middle of the night it was because he was _fucking freezing._ He tried to just pull his blankets around himself tighter, but the cold just kept seeping in, cutting down to his bones. Eventually, he gave up the fight and padded out of bed to the radiator, laying a hand on it to find that it was nearly ice cold.

Grumbling obscenities, he turned up the heat and padded back to bed. 

* * *

 

It was cold again when he woke up at five AM to his alarm clock blaring _Top 40_ hits at him. He made a mental note to find the local Classic Rock station, because even a town as small as this _had_ to have one. Or at least he hoped they did.

Getting into the shower, he sent a prayer up to whoever was listening that it had hot water and it was answered ten fold. The scorching water nearly gave him burns, even though the pressure was shit. But it was the fires of hell or the icy tundra, and since the latter was what was waiting for him outside, he opted for the former.

Dressed and cleaned up, he quickly jotted down a quick To Do list. At the moment, it was only of 'things he needed to buy'; a toque, fleecy socks, food, and and actual winter jacket. He quickly secured it to the fridge with an old buisness card magnet and then ran out the door to arrive at work on time.

When he got there, the surly kid, Kevin, from the general store was sitting at one of the tables in his uniform.

“Who let you in?” Dean asked, not particularly caring. He wasn't breaking anything, or really looking inclined to move at all, so it seemed harmless enough.

Kevin looked up and gave him an 'are you stupid' look. “My mom.”

“Linda's your mom?” He was surprised, but not because Linda didn't look like a mom, because she did, and she acted like one, too, but she didn't look old enough to have a son in his late teens. Maybe a young kid, but not one as old as Kevin.

“Dude, we're the only Asians in town. How did you _not_ know she was my mom?”

Put like that, it made Dean feel a bit stupid for not realizing sooner. “I'm just gonna go open up the cash. Shouldn't you be going to work?”

He shrugged. “I'm not opening today.”

“Then just don't...” he made a vague gesture, “break anything.” 

* * *

 

Dean left that afternoon at the same time as Linda, closing up shop early so he could supervise the workmen going to his house to set up the kitchen appliances, the washing machine, and the dryer. In reality, that meant that he had to mill about this house that wasn't yet a home for hours and try not to get in the way. Combining that thought with the memory of how Cas had 'helped' him build furniture made him laugh despite himself. It brightened his mood considerably, and he found himself humming along to the _Top 40_ station.

When he got to his house he had to wait for fifteen minutes before the handymen showed up, but when they did he was proven right. Mostly, he sat on the sofa and watched them without even a beer to occupy himself.

They'd noticed and were admiring the Impala, so he chatted idly about cars with them. It took them four long, boring hours and Dean was about to get cabin fever if he was being honest with himself. He was immensely grateful when they finally left, jumping into his car and driving into town quickly, wanting to talk to someone he could actually hold an _interesting_ conversation with.

The entire situation only struck him as odd when he was sitting in his car outside the old, red brick building that was the library. He'd been in town for less than two weeks, if even that, and yet already there was a strong divide between 'then' and 'now', 'before' and 'after'.

Before, he would have gotten along easily with the handymen. They would have probably been his friends that he'd either known since he was a kid or met through the salvage yard. He'd drink beer, have barbeque's, and watch football, even though he didn't necessarily always want to, because it was what was expected of him.

But now, 'after', he realized that he had nothing in common with them and no reason to pretend otherwise. The notion was very freeing, and he didn't think that he could wipe the smile off his face if he tried.

He entered the library with a noticeable spring in his step that made Cas raise an eyebrow at him from behind the counter. But not even the hideously patterned blue carpet, the fake wood counter tops, or the ugly, grey, plastic bookshelves could dampen his mood. 

* * *

 

The afternoon was spent quietly milling about the library, making passing comments to Cas every once and a while about something or other but for the most part, they were silent. It was an easy silence, not an awkward one, and Dean was struck by how long it'd been since the silence wasn't filled with words left unsaid, since it hadn't been a crushing weight pressing in on him from all sides with knowledge of all the things he'd done – all the things he'd said.

It had been a very, very long time since silence wasn't deafening; longer than he'd care to admit, because hindsight was twenty-twenty, even for Dean 'Emotionally Stunted' Winchester. Things had gone sour long before anyone realized, had probably been wrong the entire time.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that, not now, because _now_ he was sitting in the library of a town that was smaller than small using a book he hadn't bothered checking the title of to surreptitiously stare at Cas while he went about his librarian duties.

Instead of going to the bar that night like they had every night before, Cas stayed in town while Dean swung by the general store to stock up majorly on groceries, glad that he could now that everything was set up in his house. He also bought a plastic laundry hamper to replace the one that had broken, using it at that moment to carry his multitude of bags to the car. 

* * *

 

At two AM the next morning he woke up freezing cold and reluctantly had to get out of bed to turn the radiator back on. Because of _course_ it was off. Again. 

* * *

 

Friday snuck up on him and caught him unawares. The only things he'd done since moving in had been buy a pair of leather gloves, an insulated plaid jacket, and a fluorescent orange hunters toque. He told himself the toque was purchased because he needed it and it was the only one left, _not_ because it made Cas smile every time he caught sight of Dean wearing it.

“You wanna let me go home and then meet me there 'round seven?” Dean asked when Cas came into the shop that afternoon. “I smell like raw ingredients.” To illustrate how bad that was, he pulled an over-dramatic face that made Cas laugh.

“I'll be there,” he confirmed with a grin. 

* * *

 

_It's not a date_ , Dean told himself while looking in the full length mirror that hung on the front door.

He looked himself dead in the eye. “It's not a date,” he repeated, but it fell flat even to his own years. With a groan, he leaned forwards and braced his forearms on either side of the mirror, letting his forehead rest on the cool glass. “It's so a date.”

That, of course, lead to a whole host of other questions he didn't want to ask. Did Cas know this was a date? _Was it a date?_ In all honesty, Dean wasn't sure. He was stressing like it was one, but it was just a dinner between friends... right? Putting on his nice jeans and a fresh flannel shirt was just the natural thing to do for when a completely platonic friend was coming over. Totally.

Suddenly a deep, familiar voice came floating through the door. “Dean, I can hear your breathing from out here. Are you alright?”

With one last steadying breath, he plastered a smile on his face, stood up, and opened the door. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit worn out.”

Cas' eyebrows furrowed together in concern. “I can come back another time, if you'd like to rest. You're stuck here now, after all.” The smile pulling at the corners of Cas' lips made a returning one appear on Dean's.

“No; I promised. It's fine. Come on in.” He stepped back and opened the door, ushering his friend inside.

Blue eyes trailed around the small space, catching on the kitchen area, the dinning room table, the bed (was it Dean's imagination or did his eyes linger there?), and the little sitting area. “It's... cozy,” Cas said slowly, walking in.

Dean laughed, shutting the door behind him. “You can tell the truth, Cas; my man-pride isn't that fragile. I know this place sucks.”

Before he was even done his sentence, Cas was shaking his head. “I mean it,” he said. “It's cozy here. I like it.”

That admission made Dean smile despite himself. “Well that's, uh... that's good,” he sputtered awkwardly. He followed Cas into the house. “Go ahead, make yourself at home.”

Cas settled in on one of the old wooden chairs that surrounded the dining room table while Dean set about cooking the burgers. He'd meant to do it beforehand but he'd been too busy stressing over this _not date_. Because it wasn't a date; it couldn't be. But it totally was, whether or not Cas realized it.

Dean waited expectantly while Cas took the first bite of his burger, blue eyes fluttering close as a low moan escaped his throat.

“I take it you like it?” the chef asked with a grin.

Eyes still closed, Cas answered, “Why didn't you ask Ellen if you could be her new cook?”

“I can only make burgers. Absolutely nothing else. It's embarrassing.”

Cas opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “I think you could learn.” And then he turned his undivided attention back to his plate. Silently, Dean followed suit. 

* * *

 

After eating, they migrated to the couch to just chat. It had been going nice and easy when suddenly Cas turned a bit sheepish.

“I was wondering,” he said slowly, “and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.... But why did you come here?” Dean's obvious look of discomfort had him backtracking quickly. “I mean, why did you choose to stay _here_ , of places. You don't have to tell me what set you on this course if you don't want to.”

Dean scratching his neck awkwardly. “Honestly?” He laughed. “I don't know. I really don't. It just... feels right here.” Looking down, embarrassed now, he added, “I know it's stupid, it's just... how I feel.”

The dark haired man smiled. “It was like that for me, too,” he admitted. “I only meant to stay for a week, but I was... enchanted by the people here. And once you get to really know them, you never want to let them go.”


	4. Moving Pictures, Silent Films

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than the others but last one was longer so it's OK. Sorry for taking so long; I ended up writing a oneshot called 'Pompeii' which you should all go read and review. It's only 600 words, so it won't take you long.  
> This chapter is named for the song 'Moving Pictures, Silent Films' by Great Lake Swimmers

 It was getting really late by the time their conversation started winding down. Normally, Dean would say it was 'getting dark', but it got dark a lot earlier in the hamlet than it had back in Kansas.

“If you don't head back soon, it'll be too dangerous,” Dean pointed out reluctantly. He didn't want the night to end, as they sat there on his ratty sofa drinking shitty hot chocolate with the lamp filtering soft light around them, making it feel like they were on an island with the darkness surrounding them – visible through the drapeless windows.

Cas looked down into the brown liquid in his chipped, blue mug and spoke so softly that Dean wasn't sure he'd heard him right. “I don't want to be alone tonight.” 

* * *

 

He ended up borrowing a pair of Dean's old pyjamas and a plain t-shirt, because that's all there was to offer.

“I'll just sleep on the couch,” Cas muttered, taking one of the – admittedly many – pillows from Dean's bed and throwing it on one end.

“No, you're not,” Dean countered, grabbing the pillow back and tossing it hastily onto the bed. “Especially not without a blanket; the radiator turns off at night and it gets really cold. You can take half the bed; I don't move much. As long as you don't hog the blankets, it shouldn't be a problem.” 

* * *

 

If at two AM, when Dean wakes up because he's cold, Cas is sleeping peacefully with his head on his chest and their arms wrapped loosely around each other.... And if instead of moving to turn the radiator back on, he pulls the other man closer and wraps him tight in his arms, well... he doesn't tell anyone. 

* * *

 

He isn't disappointed when he wakes up alone. Seriously. He isn't. Except that he is, but he won't let himself think that for too long. Instead, he rolls into the other side of the bed and buries his face in the pillow (and he totally isn't trying to catch the other man's scent).

The smell of someone cooking bacon and eggs starts to filter into his conciousness, so he groggily sits up in bed and swings his head around towards the kitchenette to see a blurry figure slaving away at the stove top.

“G'morning,” Dean said, flopping out of bed. He slipped his feet into the slippers he kept tucked under the edge and grabbed his house coat off the headboard.

Cas spared a glance over his shoulder to see his friend's morning fumbles. “Good morning,” he returned with a laugh.

He stumbled over to the kitchen table and then flopped down in one of the chairs. “What're you makin' breakfast for?”

“It's a thank-you.”

“You got nothin' to thank me for, Cas. What're friends for?”

Cas said nothing. Just plated the bacon, eggs, and toast that he'd made and slid one of the sets towards Dean on the table. “Eat your breakfast,” he told him softly. 

* * *

 

In such a small town, when someone comes in wearing the same clothes they did the day before and from the opposite direction from where they live, people tend to put two and two together prematurely.

Which meant that the moment Dean walked into work he was greeting by a stern-faced Linda. Even with the huge height difference, she still intimidated him.

“If you hurt him, I will kill you,” she threatened with her arms crossed.

Dean's eyebrows pulled together. “Hurt who? What are you talking about?”

Linda gave him an 'are you stupid' look and said, “Castiel. He spent the night at your place, didn't he?”

Sudden realization filled him. “ _Oh_. Yeah. Yeah, he did. But not like that. He came over for burgers, and then we just got to talking, and it was getting late, and we'd been drinking.... So we just decided it would be safer if he stayed over.” That was a lie, but there was no way if he told the truth she'd realize they _weren't_ sleeping together. Well, technically, they had, but only in the most literal sense.

She raised an eyebrow incredulously but seemed to let it go, turning around and walking to the back room. But just as she was crossing the counter she turned back to fix him with a _look_. “My warning is still in place.”

Dean stood in the middle of the shop, dumbstruck, for a full minute before gathering his wits about him and getting down to business. 

* * *

 

For once, the shop was busy. When Cas came over that afternoon they didn't even have time to talk because Dean was so busy filling orders. Their interaction was kept minimal, to exaggerated looks across the shop and quick little one-liners as they passed each other.

When Linda left, a lot later than usual but still well before closing, she looked at Dean and said, “With the way you two are acting, you're not going to be able to convince _anybody_ that you aren't a couple.” And then she was gone, once again leaving Dean with his jaw on the floor. But this time he didn't snap himself out of it; his roaming eyes caught blue and held them for a minute, slack jawed, before he broke out into a smile and looked away before seeing the answering one. 

* * *

 

Garth stopped him as he was about to get into his car and head home that night. “I got your papers,” he said, handing Dean a manila folder. “Citizenship and building stuff. Get them back to me ASAP.”

Dean stayed up that night tediously filling out the papers that he'd spread out on his dinning room table until the radiator shut off. 

* * *

When he got to the coffee shop the next morning he was exhausted. He was leaning heavily on the glass pastry display case, running his hands over his face, when someone tapped on his shoulder. Lifting his head and turning it slightly, he saw Linda standing there with a coffee cup, steam coming off it thickly.

“You're a saint,” he muttered, turning around to lean against the case backwards and accepting the coffee from her.

She gave him a motherly smile. “I have to ask – why are you so tired? What were you doing last night?”

Dean gave her an empty grin as he took his first sip of coffee, pausing only to savour the smell for a moment. “Would you believe me if I said I was filling out documents?” he asked with a small, huffed laugh.

“Normally, no,” Linda admitted. “But you seem honest enough right now. I'll let you have this one.” 

* * *

“How was paperwork last night?” Cas asked as he enters the shop. Because of course he already knew what Dean had been doing the night before; had probably seen Garth handing him the folder as he was leaving.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Boring.” He handed the man his usual coffee order, and accepted the payment easily, not bothering to even count it out before dropping it in the register. They both had that little routine memorized.

“Do I want to ask how late you were up?”

He shook his head with a smile. “Until around two, I think. Didn't really look at a clock.”

While Dean was talking, Cas inhaled the strong smell of his coffee, letting his eyes flutter closed as he made a small, appreciative sound. Dean was almost caught mid-sentence because of the look on his face. “I hope that at least you got a lot of it done,” Cas remarked before taking a sip of his coffee, looking at Dean over the rim with his wide, blue eyes. One of his eyebrows was raised to indicate that he'd seen Dean watching him but wasn't going to ask.

“Uh, yeah. Fair amount.” He shrugged nonchalantly and looked away – anywhere but at the other man – to hide his embarrassment at being caught.

Cas nodded knowingly before taking a seat at the counter. “That's good.” 

* * *

“And when he came home I was asleep, on his sofa, in my underwear, and covered in pie crumbs,” Dean concluded his story as everyone laughed.

“Did you ever figure out what happened to the rabbit?” Cas asked. He was sitting beside Dean, though since they were on the last two stools on the bar and angled inwards to face the room it was more like 'behind' him.

Dean shook his head. “The poor guy probably ended up on the Rabbit Farm in the Sky.”

“A moment of silence for Snuffles the Rabbit!” someone called from the back of the room, causing another wave of laughter to roll through the bar.

Dean grinned and raised his glass. “Snuffles, you will be missed,” he announced solemnly. “You're sacrifice for the greater good of the Star Trek community will forever be remembered. Rest in peace.”

The small speech was followed by a chorus of 'amen's, and then silence as everyone took a sip from their glass. Immediately afterwards, there was more laughter as they all realized how ridiculous the whole scenario was.

As the laughter gave way and separated into smaller conversations, both Dean and Cas finished their drinks. Dean stood up and did a little bit of a stretch. “Well, I'm exhausted. Night!”

“I'm heading off, as well,” Cas said, more quietly than his friend, standing up as well. “Good night, everyone.”

Calls of 'goodnight' followed them out the door and into the cool, night air. Dean shivered and pulled his coat on, zipping it up quickly and shoving his hands in his pockets. He pulled out his ugly orange cap and stuffed it over his head.

“That hat is awful,” Cas informed him quietly as they walked down the street.

Dean shrugged. “I know.”

“Then why didn't you get another one?”

He thought about it for a moment, and was about to just give him a random answer, but the breeze was getting to him, and maybe he'd drank a little much on top of that, so he answered truthfully. “It makes you smile.”

Cas looked at him and then looked away. “Oh.”

They reached the impala then, since it was only parked two doors down from the roadhouse. “Well... good night,” Dean said awkwardly, going to unlock the car.

Suddenly there was a hand grasping at his coat sleeve. “Dean, wait.”

He turned quickly and came face to face with Cas. They were so close that the fog of their breath was mingling in the air between them.

Later, neither could say who'd closed the distance first; it was more of a mutual thing. All they could say was that suddenly they were kissing; trying to gain purchase on each other with mittened hands. Dean had better luck since he hadn't yet put his on, so he tangled his hands in Cas' hair.

When they broke apart, they just stood there and looked at each other. All of a sudden Dean felt like a deer in headlights and every reason why this wouldn't work out came crashing down over him. “Goodnight,” he said quickly – if it was practically a squeak, they were both too shocked to notice – and then he hopped into the impala and drove away. Quickly.


	5. Selfless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit longer than the others because I actually finished ch5 the day after I posted ch4, and then wrote the beginning of ch6 and decided to combine it with ch5 because it was just better.
> 
> Anyway, read on!

 “Sam, can I talk to you a minute?”

He heard shuffling on the other end of the line, then Sam's voice quietly telling Amelia to go back to sleep. After a moment, a door clicked shut, and Sam sleepily asked, “What is it?”

“I just... I missed you, Sammy,” he lied.

“You're not calling me in the middle of the night because you _missed me_.” Sam huffed a laugh. “You wouldn't have called if you didn't wanna talk about it, so talk.”

Dean flopped backwards onto his bed and covered his face with his free hand. “I did a bad thing.”

There was mutual silence until Sam realized that his brother wasn't going to elaborate. “Whatever it is, I won't judge you. Unless you killed someone,” he joked. His tone cut off very suddenly and turned serious. “Wait, you didn't kill anyone... did you?”

He let out a shaky laugh. “Not yet.” He ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble that had grown there. “I... met someone.”

“How's that a 'bad thing', exactly?”

“I met them on my first day in town, and things have just been progressing and going _really_ well, and then just now we, uh...” he paused, swallowing thickly. “We kissed. And I freaked out and ran away.”

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh. “Dean....”

The man in question sat up and rubbed his hand over his hair and then propped himself up slightly. “Look, I know I'm an emotionally stunted idiot, alright? I don't need you to tell me that. I thought I could do this, but I might've just lost the best friend I've had in a while.” He collapsed back onto his bed.

“If you're as good friends as you say you are, just go talk to them. As soon as possible.”

Dean rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. “And tell him _what_? 'Hey, man. Sorry that I can't just fucking own up to my own emotions'?”

Sam's shrug was almost audible. “Pretty much, yeah. If you think it'd work.”

“You're not helping,” Dean groaned.

“I can't really help from where I am; I don't even know the guy! You need to solve this one for yourself, Dean. Just... sleep on it, okay? And don't call me back until you're out of this phase of teenage angst.”

The line went dead. 

* * *

Dean took a deep, steadying breath the next morning in his car, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel before giving up and wiping them off on his jeans. When that proved useless, he just put his mittens on and hopped for the best.

He adjusted his mirror and looked himself in the eye. “You can do this,” he told himself out loud. “When Cas comes in, just apologize. It's that easy. You can do this.” 

* * *

 

But Cas didn't come into the shop that afternoon, and he wasn't in the bar when Dean got off work, either. That's why Dean was steadily getting more and more drunk in the corner of the Roadhouse.

He signalled for Jo to come over and asked for a shot. She brought out the glass and the bottle, went to fill it, and then looked him dead in the eye. “You're not gettin' this until you tell me what's on your mind.”

“Nothin' you need to worry about,” he told her, trying to give her one of his most charming smiles, but he was too tried, too worn down.

Jo raised an eyebrow incredulously. “That look is tellin' me that it's something. Now talk.”

Dean sighed and let himself look slightly deflated. It was part manipulation, part honestly showing how he felt. “Just give me the alcohol.”

It worked because Jo then filled his glass and held it out to him. He reached for it, but she pulled it back a little, making him look up to her face. “Is it about Cas?” she asked. “At least give me that.”

“Yeah, it is.” And then she slid the shot over to him and he downed it. “Another?”

She filled the glass again, and the cycle repeated of him reaching out and her pulling back. “You should go talk to him, you know.”

“You sound like my brother.” He downed the second shot and slid the glass back to her.

Pour. Reach. Pull back. “Then your brother knows what he's talkin' about. I don't know what happened between you and Cas for _this_ to happen, but I do know that I'd never seen him _actually smile_ until you moved in. Whatever it is, you can fix it.”

“One problem with that,” he informed her, taking the third shot from her hands. “I haven't seen him all day, and I don't know where he lives.” He drank it and slid the glass back to her.

This time, she didn't fill the glass backup. “Above the library. There's stairs in the back.” 

* * *

When Jo had said 'stairs', Dean had pictured something a lot less dangerous than what he was seeing now.

Despite the front and sides of the library being brick, the back was sheets of undulated metal. The steps where sticking out of it like crooked teeth, looking like they'd crumble away at the slightest touch. Underneath them, there was nothing connecting them to the ground. There wasn't even a handrail, and Dean didn't breath the entire ascent for fear that if he made too sudden a movement he'd fall a story and a half to the ground. He'd blame his irrationality on the alcohol, but he'd sobered up considerably once the cold air had hit his lungs.

Once he reached the top landing, which was in front of a heavy-looking metal door that he sure as hell hoped opened inwards, he finally let himself take a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitably emotional conversation that was about to follow. And then he knocked.

It was only ten o'clock, but when Cas opened the door he was wearing fleecy pyjamas and a t-shirt. They stood there and looked at each other for a moment before a gust of wind brushed past and they both shivered.

“Can I come in?” Dean asked tentatively.

Cas just nodded and opened the door wider. As he closed the door again, Dean shifted awkwardly, rubbing his hands together and glancing around. There wasn't much time, but from what it looked like he'd walked into he living room/study. Also that the library had a pointed roof, starting about three feet off the ground on either side and then slopping upwards to meet in the middle over a foot above his head. Honestly, Dean found that it was very Cas, with the modern-looking room and design paired with antique furniture.

The librarian finally turned to face him, crossing his arms as he did so. “What is it?”

Dean bit his lip, considering his words, and then just ended up blurting, “I'm sorry!”

“For what?” Cas asked, challenging him.

“For being an idiot?” he tried. “I shouldn't have run away like that, and I'm sorry.”

Cas let his arms fall open then, his posture relaxing slightly. He looked almost... defeated. “I shouldn't have done it in the first place,” he admitted. “I thought you might be interested in me, too, but I was wrong, and that's okay. I'm not going to hate you because I made a mistake.”

“You didn't make a mistake,” Dean told him, confused. “I did. I kissed you and then I bolted.”

It was Cas' turned to look confused. “ _You_ kissed _me_? I thought that _I_ kissed _you_.”

“Are we really gonna argue about this? 'Cause from the sounds of it we're both apologizing for something the other never realized even happened.”

After that little outburst, they just looked at each other in silence. Then, wanting to break the silence, Dean blurted, “Can I kiss you?”

Cas gave him a wry smile. “If you don't, I won't be very pleased.”

They didn't talk again for a long time. 

* * *

 

For the first night since 'officially' moving into town, Dean wasn't woken up by the radiator shutting off at two in the morning. 

* * *

 

Dean woke up the next morning to Top 40 hits blaring near his head, and for a minute he forgot where he was. But then he felt the warm, solid weight of Cas lying on top of him and he couldn't help but smile.

Cas woke up with a groan and went to sit up, but Dean held him tight. He tilted his head up and looked Dean in the eyes. “I'm going to turn of the radio,” he informed him, his voice still rough with sleep (and Dean would be lying if he said that didn't do things to him).

“Oh,” he replied stupidly, his brain still full of morning fog. He reached out blindly to hit the 'snooze' on the alarm clock, but ended up miscalculating and shoving it off the night stand with a _thud_.

At least the music stopped.

Cas snuggled back into Dean and spoke into the skin of his chest. “If you broke that, you owe me a new one.”

Dean chuckled. “As long as I can stay here for a bit longer.”

“That can be arranged.” And goddammit, if Dean couldn't _feel_ the other mans smile....

They lay in comfortable silence for a while before Dean realizes something very important. “What time is it?”

“Should be about five thirty, why?”

“Shit. I have to get ready for work.” He propped himself up slightly, though couldn't move far with Cas trapping him. Dean gave a little laugh and then said, “You know, if we'd have ever thought of keepin' this secret, all hope of that is out the window now.”

Cas looked back up at him. “Why?”

“Because I'm gonna be wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” He contorted his face into an over-dramatic thoughtful expression. “Is it still considered the 'walk of shame' when I'm not ashamed?”

When Cas laughed, he could feel it, and that probably wasn't a good thing because he really did need to get out of bed to go to work. “I think it's the principle of the thing rather than the emotion behind the act itself.”

Dean considered that. “Guess so, yeah. Either way I have to go to work in yesterday's clothes. Linda's gonna hit me with something.” 

* * *

 

He was right about Linda. When he walked into the coffee shop (fifteen minutes late and coming from the library) she hit him with a wooden spoon. What made it worse was that Kevin, the little shit that he was, was sitting in the main room waiting for his own shift at the grocery store to start (Dean had learnt recently that he only worked in the morning when he had a spare for first period, which was every other day), so Dean had to suffer through his laughter.

“Are you gonna change your answer from earlier?” Linda demanded.

Dean rubbed at the back of his head, not so much from nervousness as trying to provide comfort to the bruise he could feel forming there. “Answer to what?”

The look she gave him just _screamed_ 'you're and idiot'. It was okay, though, because he was being deliberately obtuse. “You and Cas. I've been around the block a few times; I can read that look pretty easy, Mr I-Just-Had-Sex.” At his mother's last words, Kevin choked on a cookie.

He couldn't help but laugh a little bit. “Then yeah, you could say we're a 'thing'. We haven't really talked about it.”

“What do you mean 'haven't talked about it'?!” Linda looked like she wanted to hit him with her spoon again.

Dean held up his hands in defence. “I don't wanna talk about this with you and your teenage son.” 

* * *

 

He called Sam when we went on his break. Normally, he'd go eat lunch with Cas in the library's backroom, but he'd mentioned to the other man that he needed to talk to his brother.

“Are you done with the angst?” Sam asked the moment he picked up the phone.

Dean was picking at his leftover burger from a few nights before, stretching out on the front seat of the impala. “Yeah, I am. I talked to him, and it all went better than expected.”

“Good for you.” The pride in the younger man's voice was almost sickening. “Now, we need details. Tell us _all_ about this mystery man that's caused you so much trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow even though Sam couldn't see. “We?”

Sam's tone when he next spoke was both apologetic and still made it clear that he wasn't _actually_ sorry. “Oh, yeah, you're on speaker phone.”

“Hey, Dean!” Amelia said cheerfully on the other end of line.

He sighed. “Why do you guys care so much about my love life?”

“Because we're your family and it's our job,” Sam said knowingly.

“At least tell us his name!” Her voice was a bit louder now, so she'd probably taken the phone from Sam. Or maybe she'd just shifted closer to him.

“His name's Castiel,” Dean informed them, the full name rolling awkwardly off his tongue. He couldn't really remember ever using it. “But everyone just calls him 'Cas'.”

Amelia made a noise of excitement. “What's he do as work?”

Dean groaned. “Jesus Christ, you guys. You sound like you're trying to see if he's 'worthy' of me. For your information, he's the town's librarian. And I would be having lunch with him if I didn't have to talk to you guys.”

“You could have just waited to call us,” Sam pointed out.

“But if I had, you would get all hurt that I didn't tell you as soon as possible,” he countered.

There was silence on the other end as they considered this. “He's right, you know,” Amelia said quietly, obviously talking to Sam.

Another beat of silence and then, hesitantly, Sam said, “Yeah, he is.” 

* * *

 

“How about I make up for skipping lunch by taking you on a real date tonight,” Dean offered as he handed Cas his coffee a few hours later.

Cas pretended to consider this for a moment, sipping at his coffee, before grinning at Dean. “That sounds very nice. What do you want to do?”

That was where Dean's planning had come to a standstill. “I haven't been here that long, remember? I was hoping you could give me something to work with.”

“There's a drive-in theatre,” Cas suggested. “I don't know what's playing tonight and when, but I can call Ash – the man who runs the drive in – and ask.”

“Awesome.” Dean couldn't wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the day. 

* * *

 

They ended up sitting on the hood of the impala at eight o'clock that night watching His Girl Friday.

The drive-in itself was a large parking lot with a concessions booth on one side (manned by Ash, who Dean recognized from the bar) and a large projector screen on the side that met it. There where three other cars in the lot, one of the belonging to Ash and the other with a set of teenagers making out in the backseat each.

Even though they didn't end up in the same state as the frisky teens, they didn't pay much attention to the movie, either, opting instead to talk to each other in hushed tones. Between them, their hands lay intertwined.

Cas told him about growing up with a million and one siblings (only eight, actually, but to Dean's credit that was still a lot), about the trials and tribulations of Catholic school, and how he actually did miss his family sometimes, even though he'd chosen to leave them.

Responding in kind, Dean told him about Sam and how he'd practically raised him while their Dad went and got drunk every night. How his childhood was a collage of the motel rooms they'd been in, since John Winchester couldn't hold a job for more than a week. To paint a lighter picture, he added stories about Bobby, his wife, Jody, and Sam, Amelia, and their coming baby.

“I'll probably have to go back south for a bit when the baby's born,” Dean speculated. “You can come with me, if you want. I've only talked about you once, and they're already desperate to meet you.”

For a second, Dean was worried that offering this is too much, too soon, but when he saw the way Cas' eyes lit up he forgot why he'd ever questioned it. “I'd like that very much.” 

* * *

 

Afterwards, they went to Dean's house, and were both too tired to do anything so they ended up just snuggling (though Dean refused to call it that) on his bed before passing out. And then waking up freezing cold at the crack of stupid, remedying the situation by actually getting under the covers and pulling themselves closer together.

Unlike the past two times they'd stayed the night together, Cas had actually had the foresight to pack an overnight bag with a change of clothes. Though now Dean realized that it wasn't as much of a problem for him, since he could just run up the stairs of his workplace and throw on a change of clothes once they got into town.

“You know, I'm probably gonna need a drawer at your place,” Dean joked over a breakfast of cereal and toast.

Cas methodically finished chewing, chasing it down with a glass of orange juice, and said, “I can spare one.”


	6. I Was Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking with Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit short but last one was long so it balances. Named by I Was Broken by Marcus Foster.

 Dean couldn't help but laugh as Sam let out an annoyed huff on the other end of the phone line. “Just text me a picture of him if you're not gonna talk about it!” the younger Winchester whined.

“How do I get a picture? Just go up to him like 'hey so my annoying kid brother is a creep... cheese'.”

Sam brought out a bitchface that Dean could hear in his voice at that one. “Use 'phone contact picture' as an excuse. I don't care; I want to see the man who's got you stuck up there.”

Dean shifted his grip on the phone, wedging it between his ear and shoulder so he could get both hands on the steering wheel. He knew that it was illegal but there was no one there to rat him out so he didn't think it mattered all that much. “First off, I'm not ' _stuck_ ' up here. Secondly, since when where you so interested in my love life?”

“Since after Lisa,” the lawyer answered bluntly. “Dean, you were a wreck. I _know_ you were. So sue me for wanting to see the face of the person that seems to be setting you on the right track.”

He shifted again. This time he was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation and not the way he'd been sitting. “I'll bring him with me when Amelia pops out your rug-rat, deal?”

The self-satisfied smile was audible in his voice. “Deal.” 

* * *

 

“How did you survive this long without learning to cook something other than ramen noodles and microwave mac'n'cheese?” Dean asked, his head deep in one of the cabinets in Cas' kitchen.

The man himself was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, looking for all his worth like a petulant toddler. “I can cook many things. I just don't see the point.”

Dean turned slightly to look at him, caught him checking out his ass, raised an eyebrow, and decided not to mention it. “Sure, whatever you say. We're going to get real food, and I'm going to teach you how to cook things.”

“I don't see the point,” Cas repeated.

That earned a slightly judging look from Dean. “The point? I dunno, taste variety, maybe?”

“I don't eat here often, Dean; I usually go to the Roadhouse.”

Dean stood up and pulled himself to his full height as best he could, wiping his dusty palms off on his thighs. “Well, I'm gonna make you appreciate home-cooked meals.” 

* * *

In his head, Dean was calling this 'Operation: Get Cas to Like Real Food'. He couldn't say that out loud, of course, but he thought it.

Their first exploit was with regular spaghetti because, Dean thought, you really can't go _too_ wrong with that. All you gotta do is watch the pot, but not too closely – a watched pot never boils, after all.

It was seeming more and more like Cas had listened to that proverb a little too literally. Which shouldn't have been surprising, considering he took everything else literally as well.

No matter what the cause was, the only reason the pot didn't boil over was because Dean was there to yank it off the element at the last minute. In the process, he received a first degree burn on the side of his hand from the water sloshing over the side. Apologetically, Cas applied some salve to it and an Ace bandage. Dean was pretty sure that the librarian would have also given it a kiss if Dean hadn't protested, stating that he was a 'grown ass man'.

“Let's go finish the spaghetti,” he grumbled, hauling himself out of the dinning room chair and walking back into the kitchen, which was joined to the dinning room.

Despite already saving the water, Dean wanted Cas to make his own mistakes. That was how you learnt to cook, after all. But it seemed that Cas made _a lot_ of mistakes. Some of them where kind of adorable, prompting Dean to take pictures with his cell phone.

Cas looking at a pot of boiling water like it had personally offended him, Cas with spaghetti sauce on his face, Cas with his dress shirt sleeves roiled up straining the spaghetti noodles over the sink, steam wafting up and causing him to reach up and wipe his brow more than once.

Dean's favourite picture, though, was of Cas sitting at the table across from him, an old, slightly stained porcelain bowl with a garish, blue pattern in front of him, filled with pasta. He had a surly look on his face, and was leaning forwards with his elbows on the table, shirt sleeves still rolled up from before. The fork rested midway between the bowl and his mouth, though it was empty now because he was chewing a bite. This was the picture he sent to Sam.

After the picture was taken, the text was sent, and the phone was once again securely in Dean's pocket, Cas looked up at him, meeting green eyes with blue. “What?” he asked simply.

Dean felt his eyebrows pull together. “What?” he mimicked.

“Why are you taking pictures of me?”

He shrugged. “You're attractive. I like you. My brother wanted to put a face to the name.”

“Oh.” Cas took another bite of his pasta. “Which one did you send him? You took a few.”

Following suit, Dean took a forkful of his pasta into his mouth. It was a bit sticky and not cooked all the way through, but it was Cas' first try so he didn't judge it too harshly. “The one I took just now.”

Suddenly, Cas took his own phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. But flash was on, and Dean felt his eyes widen in shock. When Cas took a look at the photo, he started laughing.

“What's so funny?” Dean asked grumpily.

Unable to reply through his now-dying laughter, Cas just turned the phone towards him. The picture _was_ quite comical, not that Dean would admit that. His face and posture were the very definition of 'surprised', a bowl that looked nothing like the one Cas had was in front of him, his fingers were loose around the handle of his fork, and the bend between the head and the handle rested lightly on the edge of the bowl.

“Turn off your flash next time,” the subject of the picture grumbled. His surly demeanour only caused Cas to laugh harder. 

* * *

The reply that Dean got to his text, which he only saw the next morning, was Amelia telling him that Cas was cute. It made him laugh, which made Cas look at him funny from where he was pulling on jeans on the other side of the room.

“Sam's wife, Amelia, thinks you're cute,” Dean informed him.

Cas considered it for a minute, pulling his belt tight around his slim hips. “I am cute,” he answered eventually.

That made Dean laugh probably harder than it should have. “ _Cute_ isn't the word I'd use.” He hooked his fingers in the other man's belt loops and jerked him closer, until their hips where pressed together. He lowered his head and started laying kisses down the edge of Cas' stuble-coated jaw.

“Dean,” he whined. “I have to go to work. And so do you.”

He just grinned as he continued down Cas' neck. “You work downstairs,” he replied, “And I work across the street. I think we'll be good.”

Cas sighed. “These jeans where very hard to get on. I don't want to try again.”

Dean brought up his head and laid a slow, chaste kiss to Cas' mouth, to which Cas responded in kind. When he broke away, he said, “Alright. Put on a shirt, and let's get going.” 

* * *

Cas very quickly became something fixed in Dean's life. Which is why, in the middle of the night when they were both woken up by his radiator shutting off, he asked, “Did you ever wonder why I came here?”

They where lying quietly in his bed, Cas with his head on Dean's chest and their arms around each other. Cas _hmm_ 'd and Dean felt it against his side. “I figured you'd tell me if it was relevant”

Dean just rubbed the man's arm in response. After a moment of comfortable silence, he said, “I was running away.”

“From what?”

He attempted a shrug, and failed since there was _literally_ a large weight on his chest. “Myself, maybe? Six months before I showed up here, my girlfriend and I broke up. It wasn't a good break. There where screaming matches and lots of things we shouldn't have said.” He laughed humorlessly. “Hell, I don't even know if her kid is actually mine, too. We hooked up years before we actually became a couple, and she says that there where other guys around that time, too, but I've always suspected... and I'll never know.”

“You'd make a good dad,” Cas murmured against his skin.

“My dad was... awful. I feel bad saying that, 'cause he's dead, but it's true,” Dean admitted. “And I always worried I'd end up like him. I was so worried for the first month I was with Lisa, thought I was gonna fuck up with Ben. But you know what? I did pretty good. Wasn't enough, though.”

Cas nuzzled closer, and Dean tightened his arms in response. “Her loss,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to kiss the top of Dean's belly.

Dean felt a smile form on his face as he ran his fingers through Cas' hair. 

* * *

They fell into a kind of rhythm after that. It was easy, almost too easy, like they'd been preparing their whole lives to meet the other. They switched who's house they went to every night, and Dean taught Cas to cook. Most evenings found them in the kitchen, either both working dutifully or with one working and the other standing behind them, arms wrapped around their waist and head on their shoulder, often trying their best to be a distraction – and often succeeding.

If Dean was being honest with himself, he was scared. With Lisa, things had been like this for a nice, long time, and yet they still hadn't loved each other enough to make it work. Or maybe the problem was that they'd loved each other _too_ much. Dean didn't want to look too closely into that.

Many mornings would start with Linda asking Dean where Cas was, mostly teasing, because more often than not Cas would come in and have coffee before he had to open the library, content to share even five more minutes together. Dean would always huff in response and say something about Cas having a job and a life and being a grown man, and then Linda would laugh and go back to baking.

Dean was just waiting for it to all come crashing down. In his experience, it always did.  


	7. Round and Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named for the song 'Round and Round' by Monument Valley.
> 
> IMPORTANT: I'm going away on vacation from July 26th to August 2nd. I will have no internet whatsoever during that time, so there will not be an update. Sorry, lovely readers, but it's just the way it is. I wrote and editing this chapter today just so I could tell you this.

 Cas walked into the coffee shop with a purpose. Not that that was any different than the way he usual walked, but Dean liked to think he was better at reading the other man's expressions now, after knowing him for a while. As per usual, Cas leaned over the counter to quickly give Dean a chaste kiss, but he followed it up with, “My siblings are coming to visit.”

“Awesome,” Dean said tentatively, handing him his coffee. Since the other man didn't seem to keen on the idea, Dean was a bit worried.

Cas just shook his head, confirming Dean's fears, and accepted the mug. “No, it's not. You don't know Gabriel. Anna will be fine, but Gabriel is awful.”

“How long'll they be here?” He wasn't sure he wanted to know, if it would be a while, but he needed to.

“Four days,” Cas informed him. Not _too_ long, then. “Gabriel just called me from the car informing me that they are to arrive in three hours.”

Dean snorted. “Short notice,” he muttered.

The librarian just shrugged. “It's how they are. I'd be surprised to have gotten a call when they'd left.”

Their conversation got cut off by a sudden influx of people wanting coffee. Cas went to the window to sit in a plush, leather chair and Dean was reminded that he should probably hire someone else to help him. As he worked, he resolved to put an ad out in the local paper that evening. 

* * *

 

As fate would have it, he would never get around to putting the ad out that evening. Because as he and Cas were leaving the coffee shop an unfamiliar car pulled up on the street and a man and woman got out.

When the strangers saw them, they both grinned and walked over. The man wrapped his arms around Cas tightly, almost lifting him off the ground even though Cas was bigger.

“Cassie!” he exclaimed a bit too loudly in Cas' ear, and Dean watched as the blue eyed man winced ever so slightly.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Cas returned stiffly, returning his brother's hug awkwardly. When they broke apart, the woman – Anna, Dean presumed – walked over and gave Cas a much more normal hug, which was returned more naturally.

“It's good to see you, Cas,” she said into his shoulder quietly.

Dean watched as a small, genuine smile grew on his face. “It's good to see you, too,” Cas returned, tightening his arms slightly.

When they broke apart, everyone pretended not to see Anna wiping her eyes. “Who's this?” she asked her brother, gesturing in Dean's direction.

“I'm Dean,” said the man in question, stepping forwards slightly to shake her hand, and then Gabriel's.

Anna raised her eyebrow. “ _This_ is Dean?” she asked Cas incredulously. Cas just blushed slightly and nodded, which made Dean laugh, despite not knowing the context, and sling his arm around Cas' waist to pull him closer.

Gabriel over-dramatically laid his hands over his chest. “Too sweet. You're gonna give me a cavity!”

The redheaded woman reached over and smacked the back of his head. “Yeah, like you _have_ any real teeth anymore.”

“You wound me,” Gabriel told her with a faux-hurt expression.

Anna shook her head in shame and Cas cracked a smile at his siblings antics. “Dean, that's Anna,” Cas pointed at his sister, “and that's Gabriel.” He pointed at his brother.

“Call me Gabe,” the other man told him. Dean just nodded and, by unspoken mutual decision, they all started walking around to the back of the library.

“So, Dean,” Gabriel started. It sounded like the beginning of every 'interrogate the new boyfriend' speech Dean had ever heard, so he braced himself for whatever odd, personal questions could follow. “Where are you from? Not from 'round here, I can tell.”

“Lebanon, Kansas,” he answered easily as they walked up the still-terrifying staircase. It was a good start to a questioning that he predicted would get weird. He wondered vaguely _how_ it was obvious that he wasn't from around there.

“Do you have any siblings?”

Dean nodded. “A brother and a sister-in-law. They're expecting a baby soon.”

That was when Cas let them into his apartment. He and Dean went to sit at the dinning room table, where they usually did unless they where watching TV, and Gabriel and Anna went to the sofa.

“What's for supper, Cas?” Anna asked politely.

Cas' eyes widened in fear as he turned to Dean and mouthed 'I have no idea.'

Improvising, Dean thought about the contents of Cas' cupboards, which he knew as well as his own. “Spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread,” he answered finally. “I'll get started on that now.”

“He's handsome _and_ he cooks?” Anna asked from the sofa. “Wow, Cas, I think you've found yourself a keeper.”

Dean couldn't help the blush that rose to his cheeks, and he knew without looking that Cas had the same problem. 

* * *

 

Dinner passed uneventfully, with Anna making appreciative comments about Dean's cooking and Gabe pestering him with questions. Dean mostly gave him stock answers ('I own a coffee shop', 'I used to be a mechanic', 'I like kids well enough'), but sometimes he needed to elaborate ('I was on a road trip and it ended here', 'My parents are dead', 'This isn't an experiment; I've dated guys before').

Needless to say it got awkward pretty fast and they ended up eating in silence by the end. Afterwards, they crowded on the sofa to watch TV. To save anyone from having to sit on someone else, Anna perched herself on the arm of the couch. She was the smallest of them, after all, and could balance there easiest.

“So,” Dean started, “where are you guys staying while you're here?” He looked at Gabe and Anna expectantly. He desperately hoped they didn't say 'with Cas'; that would make _his_ staying with Cas in the _open concept apartment_ very awkward very quickly.

“At the motel,” Anna told him cheerfully and Dean mentally let out the breath he'd been holding.

“Yeah,” Gabe continued with a grin, “we thought the new couple wouldn't appreciate us just dropping in.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Anna hit his arm playfully while both Dean and Cas sat back, blushing slightly.

Anna gave Dean a reassuring grin. “You get used to him, I promise,” she informed him.

Dean laughed a little. “Guess I have to, don't I?” And then he's suddenly struck by the fact that _he just said that_. He just implied that he was there for the long haul, when he'd only known Cas for just over a month. Dean Winchester, who was allergic to commitment, had just offhandedly commented that yeah, he might like this for a while.

It seemed that while his world had momentarily stopped everyone else's had kept spinning. Neither Anna nor Gabriel had paid his comment any mind, but when he caught Cas' eye he saw that at least someone else there was affected by his comment. He smiled reassuringly at Cas and watched as the blue eyes softened. 

* * *

 

Gabriel and Anna left for the motel near midnight after thoroughly examining Dean's adequacy, leaving Dean and Cas to collapse into bed, mentally drained. They shimmied out of their outer clothing until they were both only in their boxers and then got under the covers.

“Did you mean it?” Cas asked quietly. He didn't look up at Dean's face when he asked, lying as he was with his head on the taller man's chest.

“Mean what?” Dean returned, glancing down at the other man even though he could only see dark curls. He knew exactly what was being asked of him as he placed a soft, chaste kiss onto the dark, messy hair

He could _feel_ Cas rolling his eyes. “You know what,” he answered. “What you said earlier.”

Dean nodded slightly, knowing Cas would feel the movement against the top of his head. When he spoke, his voice came out slightly horse. “I think I did.”


	8. I Got You Babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long on the update! But here it is, finally. I hope you all still love me.
> 
> The chapter title is from the song by the band 'Bahamas' (whom I saw live last month!... you needed to know). Please read and review! xx

 It was really fucking cold when Dean woke up that morning. Like, really, indescribably, fucking _cold_. He could tell that he wasn't in his own bed so that meant it _wasn't_ the radiator to blame this time. To add to that, he was also mostly naked and the covers had been hogged by the blue eyed man sleeping next to him.

“Cas,” he groaned, rolling over to face him. All he could see was a dark tuft of hair poking out from the blanket burrito that was going on. Dean tugged useless on the duvet, trying to disentangle it. “Cas, for the love of God, give me some warmth. Why is it so cold?”

“You're in Canada, what did you expect?” Cas grumbled sleepily. He wiggled around a bit until he was facing Dean and then reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist, bringing some of the blanket with it. “You're freezing,” Cas mumbled, snuggling up to the other man.

Dean pulled Cas closer and tried to get as much under the blankets as possible. “I warned you. Now c'mere.”

They'd only just settled back into each other's arms when Cas' alarm clock started blaring the Top40. Dean groaned again and unwrapped his arms from around Cas. “Guess we gotta get up now,” he stated.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Cas protested, moving so that he was half on top of Dean, trapping him in the bed.

“Work,” he reminded gently. “You know, that thing you do to earn money so that you can have a house and food and all that great stuff?”

Cas made a noise of protest but didn't move, making Dean chuckle and dip his chin so that he could press a kiss into the dark mess on top of the other man's head. In response, Cas looked up so he could get a kiss on the mouth. Once he achieved his goal, he shifted so as to deepen the kiss, in hopes of keeping them in bed a little while longer. Dean could tell what he was doing, and just laughed at him again, pushing him away and starting to get out of bed. “Later,” he promised, pressing one last kiss onto Cas' mouth. When his feet hit the hardwood on the floor he couldn't hold back the full-body shiver that overtook him.

“Bed's not looking so bad now, is it,” Cas teased, still tangled up in the sheets.

Dean just decisively ignored him and marched to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower. If Cas joined him, well, they didn't end up late, so no one needed to know. 

* * *

 

“You look happy,” Linda commented as he came into the shop that morning.

He just grinned at her, snatching up his apron and tying it around his waist. “That's 'cause I am.” And he was, really, for the first time in a while. Before arriving in town, he hadn't been in the best of places, but now here he was humming The Smiths in a coffee shop that he ran. That and the fact that Cas' crazy siblings had left the the day before after staying a week. He'd liked Anna well enough but Gabriel was obviously someone you'd need to be forced to be around for a while before you got along with him.

She smiled back at him softly. “That's good. I'm glad; you looked like you could use a little light in your life.”

Dean didn't know how to respond to that. 

* * *

 

His good mood broke when an achingly familiar face walked into the shop.

“Dean,” she said simply. The shop was empty apart from her and him. He knew Linda was in the backroom, but she wasn't going to come out for anything short of a nuclear explosion, which this actually had the potential of being.

He didn't say anything in response, so she walked up to the counter and put her hands on it. He moved his, stepping back and looking anywhere but at her, clenching his fists and setting his jaw.

“Dean,” she repeated.

“Leave,” he said quietly, breathlessly, still not daring to move his eyes. His jaw hurt from the effort to speak.

“What's wrong?” she asked, and he could hear the confusion in her voice.

He licked his lips and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. “I dunno,” he said, rage boiling just under the surface. “What could _possibly_ be wrong?”

“Sam told me I'd find you here.”

Dean barked a laugh. “I doubt that. He knows what happened; I told him.”

She smiled at him softly, and he had a flash back to when times were good. When _they_ were good. “That wasn't my fault.”

“You're right,” he said tonelessly. “It wasn't.” Dean visibly deflated. “Are you done? Can you leave now?”

“You seem eager to get rid of me,” she teased, a familiar glint in her eye and _oh God if she didn't leave soon Dean was gonna loose it_.

Dean started to reply, but as it turned out there _was_ a God, and He permitted Cas to walk into the shop at just that moment. Cas looked with confusion between Dean and the woman across the counter from him. He read the tension held in Dean's posture, and went to stand at the pastry display case.

“Is there a problem here, Dean?” he asked calmly, his tone even.

Dean's eyes were locked on Cas as he spoke. “No. She was just leaving.” With a quick glance at the woman, he added, “Weren't you, Lisa?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Fine. But I'll talk to you later; I still have more to say.”

“I've heard everything you've had to say, okay? I know I fucked up, but we're over now. I'm not your problem anymore, and you can go be happy with _Doctor Matt_ , since he was so much better than I was.” Dean's voice was a lot louder and angrier than he'd intended and he had to make an effort to calm himself, closing his eyes and clenching his fists again.

“That's why I'm here, Dean,” she told him. “It wouldn't work out with him; he's not _you_. Come back. Come _home_.”

He shook his head. “No. Not happening. If you really wanna talk about this, we can talk later. But not here, _please_.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “I'm leaving now, but I'll call you later.”

Dean wasn't looking forwards to that conversation, but he didn't answer her, just watched as she walked out then turned to Cas, who was looking at him questioningly.

“Who was she?” the librarian asked.

“Lisa,” Dean answered simply. “My ex. I caught her... in bed with another guy. Our break up wasn't what you'd call 'amicable', and it's kinda why I ended up here. I needed to clear my head.”

“Oh.” There was silence for a few minutes and Dean was wondering if Cas wanted his coffee when the man himself asked, “Am I a rebound?”

Dean felt his face contort into an expression of confusion. “No! No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

But Cas continued to ramble as if he hadn't spoken. “Because, if you don't mean anything by any of this, then that's fine. Totally fine; I understand.”

“Cas, stop it!” Dean said with more force than he intended, effectively cutting the other man off. More tenderly, he walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek. “You're not a rebound, okay? I promise.”

Almost instinctively Cas leaned into the touch. “But she wants to talk to you later,” he said, voice soft now. “She wants to be with you again. You two had a history, and we've just started. If you....” he trailed off, not certain of how he wanted to end that sentence.

Dean leaned across the counter and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “ _Had_ a history,” he echoed. “Do you really think I want anything to do with someone who cheated on me? It was my fault, but I sure as hell can't trust her anymore. Whatever she tells me later will not change how I feel about you.”

Cas pulled away slightly, confused. “How is her infidelity your fault?”

“I'm kinda fucked up, Cas. I was never there for her, I was always at work....” he sighed.

Now it was Cas' turn to reach up and touch Dean's face. “There's no excuse for it. It was her fault, and her fault alone. You shouldn't feel guilty about it.”

Dean turned his face to press a kiss onto Cas' palm. “I know. Sam and Amelia and everyone, really, told me as much. Doesn't matter; I blame myself.”

“I love you,” Cas sighed, his head flopping to the side slightly. They both realized what he'd said at the same time and froze like someone had hit 'pause' on the shop. Then 'play' got pressed and Cas started babbling. “I didn't mean to say that. I mean, I meant it, but I wasn't gonna _say_ it. Except I did. Sorry.”

He was cut off by Dean kissing him again. “It's okay. I, uh...” he felt heat rising to his face and looked away. “I think I might –”

This time he was being cut off. “Don't say it unless you're sure,” Cas told him. “I can wait, it's okay. I know it's all... rushed.”

Dean smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” He coughed awkwardly, then, pulling away. “Do you, uh, want a coffee?”

That earned him a small smile. “Yes. My usual.” 

* * *

 

As Dean pulled into the motel parking lot later that evening, after a fairly tense dinner with Cas, he was beginning to think that meeting Lisa here was a bad idea. Like, a really, tremendously, stupidly bad idea. But he'd already agreed to it, and he knew he needed the closure, so he just kept Cas' parting words close ('It wasn't your fault. Remember that. When you've finished talking to her, I'll be here') and walked through the front doors.

The lobby of the hotel was still painfully familiar after his few weeks stuck living there, and the receptionist had recognition in her eyes when she looked at him. He walked up to the desk and gave her a charming smile.

“Could you tell me what room Lisa Braeden is staying in?”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him suggestively. Dean knew that correcting her would only cement her belief that he was about to get laid, so he didn't bother. “Room seventy-three, to your right,” she informed him.

He thanked her and walked down the hallway, pausing outside the room that was supposedly occupied by his ex. After a deep breath, he knocked decisively, and it sounded much like that of a police knock. The door was opened quickly, leading him to believe she'd been waiting for him. She was dressed casually, in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but it was all form-fitting like she knew how to play up her looks. Dean knew from the time they'd been dating that she was _very_ aware of how good she looked.

“Come in,” she offered, opening the door wider and gesturing inside.

He walked into the motel room and stood there awkwardly. “What more do you have to say to me?” he asked quietly.

Lisa smiled at him. “I want you to come back. Please. What happened between Matt and I was a one-time thing, I swear. It'll never happen again, just come back.”

She sounded so sincere that he almost believed her. “Doesn't matter,” he responded, shaking his head. “You coulda said that before. Hell, you coulda _not slept with him_. I have a life here.”

“What about your family? Your friends back home? The life you _grew up with_?” she questions, laughing almost hysterically as she spoke. “Are you really willing to throw it all away, and for what? A few people you've known for a month?”

He flinched at her words, but then thought once again about Cas and remembered what he was here to say. “You threw everything we had away for an orgasm. If you'd just _told_ me I wasn't treating you right, we coulda fixed it. I loved you a lot, and I know I didn't say it much, but you know me.” He smirked a little, though there wasn't any cheer in his expression. “I was never all that good with words.”

“You _loved_ me?” she threw back at him. “What? You don't anymore? We broke up four months ago!”

Dean shrugged. “I don't. I have someone else.”

She raised both eyebrows incredulously, unable to believe what he was saying. “Already?”

“Yeah, already. And you met him, at the coffee shop. He's a great guy, Lis. One of the best I've ever met.”

“Bet he is,” she muttered.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Lisa shrugged. “I dunno, what do you think it means.”

He threw up his hands and turned away from her in exasperation. “See, this?” he gestured between them. “ _This_ is why we couldn't work out. _This_ is why you slept with Matt. We had a whole lotta love, but we didn't like each other all that much.” 

* * *

 

That night he laid awake in Cas' arms thinking over _everything_ – his old relationship with Lisa, why it came to an end, his current relationship with Cas, and how he prayed to God or whoever was listening that he could actually make this work.


	9. Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an important announcement. This is the last chapter. After this is only an Epilogue, and then I'll set up a 'verse for timestamps. I just wanted to thank you all for reading and reviewing this, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. So, here we are. Enjoy the ending.
> 
> The title it taken from the song by The Smiths.

Dean didn't want to talk about it. Cas _did_ want to talk about it. It caused for a very tense and silent breakfast. They weren't fighting – they were, actually, very decisively _not_ fighting. To the best of Dean's knowledge, Lisa still hadn't even left town, and if he knew her at all – and he was pretty sure he did – she was actually going to stick around for a while longer.

When Cas didn't show up in the afternoon as he usually did, even Linda was alerted to the fact that something was wrong. She'd been eyeing him suspiciously all morning, knowing that something was off, but this was the turning point that made her actually say something.

“Does it have something to do with the girl you were yelling at yesterday?” she asked accusingly with no preamble, crossing her arms.

He sighed and thought about it. “Kind of...,” he trailed off when he saw the look in her eye. “Not in the way you're thinking! She's my ex, okay? We didn't end on a good note, and that's why I'm here at all. I talked to her last night, trying to get her to leave and _maybe_ get some closure, and Cas wants me to 'talk about my feelings' or some shit.” Dean crossed his arms petulantly. He did realize how much of a child he was being, but he couldn't stop.

Linda raised an eyebrow. “Talking about your feelings is something you should be doing, Dean. Especially if you're hurt. And if there's anyone you can tell these things to, it's Castiel.”

Dean shot her a narrow-eyed glare, knowing she was right. 

* * *

 

He hated the staircase out back of the library. Hated it. It was rickety and unsafe and he felt like the boards were going to snap and he was going to go plunging into the snow and ice below him. Usually, he went through the main library and walked up the stairs in the backroom to get to Cas' loft, but that was when he wasn't trying to apologize for being emotionally constipated.

A cold wind blew, causing him to shiver, and it both cut to his core and threatened to push him off the small platform. Usually, he wore one of Cas' thick sweaters under his jacket to keep warm, but since Cas hadn't been pleased with him that morning he hadn't had one forced on him. He was much too proud to admit he liked Cas' ugly sweaters.

After a few moments of deliberation, he knocked on the door, and the sound was weak even to his own ears. It was met only with a call of, “I know it's you, Dean! If you're not going to talk to me, you can go home.”

He licked his lips and debated how to respond. “I wanna talk, Cas. Let me in; it's freezing.”

The door was open within seconds, so Cas must've walked towards the door after he'd told him to go away. That was promising, right? They stood there for a second just looking at each other, not saying anything, before Cas moved to the side. “You're letting the cold air in,” he muttered.

Dean took a few steps into the loft and toed off his boots, wiggling his toes a little in the shag carpet. Then he took off his jacket and hung it on the stand next to the door.

“I just made tea,” Cas offered, tilting his head towards the kitchen. Dean nodded and followed him deeper into the loft, where two cups of tea sat steeping on the table.

“You really knew it was me, huh?” Dean joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Cas shrugged. “I hoped.”

Dean nodded again and picked up the tea. He didn't normally drink it, preferring coffee, but it was prepared just how he liked it; with way too much milk and sugar. After taking one sip he _knew_ he would do whatever it took to keep Cas with him. “What do you wanna talk about?” he asked slowly, cautiously. He wanted to talk, but that didn't mean this was gonna be easy.

The blue eyed man just inclined his head towards the couch as an answer, so Dean followed him there and sat on the far end, away from him but facing inwards. “We're acting childish,” Cas muttered as soon as they were seated.

Dean smirked. “Little bit, yeah.”

“I just....” He sighed and placed his drink on the table. Dean copied him as he continued. “You were upset after talking to her. You didn't seem to get that I _want_ to talk to you.”

“It's my problem,” Dean replied. “You don't need to deal with it; I got this.”

Cas nodded like he understood. “I know. But that's what I said – I _want_ to talk to you. I can help you, Dean.”

“I don't need help, Cas!” It came out more harshly than he intended it to, and the flash of hurt in Cas' eyes cut him to the core. He felt himself floundering, at a loss for words, and he looked at Cas with an expression of near-complete helplessness that he didn't see because he was looking anywhere _but_ at Dean.

“Okay, Dean,” he replied softly, going to pick his tea mug back up. Dean reached over and stopped his arm, causing Cas to look over at him.

Dean swallowed thickly and couldn't look Cas in the eye. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to form words that wouldn't come but only succeeding in looking like a fish out of water.

The librarian reached up with his free hand to touch Dean's face, gently nudging it to face him while he threaded the fingers of their other hands together. Face open and honest, he asked, “What is it, Dean?”

It took another few seconds of silent preparation before Dean spoke. “I love you. And it scares the fuck out of me 'cause we've only just started. I'm gonna fuck up, like I fucked up with Lisa, and I could'a forgotten about that and started over but she came in and ruined everything. We haven't known each other all that long, Cas, you don't know – ”

Dean was cut off by Cas' hand sliding over his mouth. “Stop talking.” They looked each other in the eye for a few minutes, while Dean was tempted to flick his tongue out and taste Cas' skin, before Cas started talking again. “Listen here, Dean Winchester. You're right; we haven't known each other long. But can you really say that matters? Objectively, I think we know each other better than anyone else. And I thought we agreed what happened with Lisa wasn't your fault. I don't think her showing up has ruined anything, either.” His words were met with silence, so Cas raised an eyebrow. “If I move my hand, will you stop presuming to know how we I feel about what's happened?”

He thought that question through for a minute before nodding. Cas moved his hand, but only to the side of Dean's face.

“If you ever have doubts,” Cas said slowly, “you can talk to me. Don't be afraid.”

Dean couldn't open his mouth because he was scared of what he might say. Though, really, nothing could be worse than what he'd already admitted, so he leaned forwards those last few inches to press their lips together, hoping to put everything he felt behind it. The kiss ended up a slightly awkward mix of teeth and tongue, neither sure of where they could fit their hands while sitting on the sofa, so by mutual decision they stood up together and started to shuffle their way in the general direction of the bed.

“How did you know it was me behind the door?” Dean asked between gasped breaths.

“I didn't,” Cas admitted. “The first time I said it, Garth was there.”

Dean started to laugh but it was quickly swallowed by Cas' mouth. They didn't manage to make it to the bed.


	10. Epilogue - Crack the Shutters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so conflicted with this being over... I'm very sad. Stay tuned for a new doc with timestamps! The playlist for this story is on 8tracks here: /quietlittlevoices/stars-and-satellites
> 
> That all being said, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did :)

 “You weren't kidding when you said you hated planes,” Cas muttered when they finally got off in Kansas.

Dean only glared at him in response, but didn't let go of his hand, which he'd had in a death grip since they hit turbulence not half an hour into the flight.

“Let's just go to bagging and find your brother,” the librarian suggested, shifting to knock their shoulders together lightly.

“Sounds like a plan.” 

* * *

 

Standing at over six feet, Sam Winchester was easy to spot in a crowed. He was absolutely beaming, but he looked a bit frantic. When he spotted his brother, though, the edge of nervousness melted away and Dean found himself caught in a tight hug, which he easily returned.

“Sam, this is Cas,” Dean finally said when he was released. “Cas, my little brother, Sammy.”

“Don't call me Sammy,” the taller man grumbled, reaching over to shake Cas' hand. He turned to him and smiled. “Nice to finally meet you. With how much Dean talks about you, I feel like we already know each other.”

Cas grinned. “Likewise.”

“How was the plane ride?” Sam joked, catching Dean's eye and grinning at his older brother's scowl.

“It was...” he glanced sideways at Dean who was full on glaring at the other men. Then he looked at Sam and shrugged, not finishing the sentence.

Sam grinned. “That bad, huh?” 

* * *

 

When they got back to Sam's house, they found Amelia sitting on the sofa with a salad resting on her ready-to-burst belly. She grinned at them as they came in, and Sam leaned down to give her a quick kiss. Dean made over-exaggerated gagging noises, for which he received a glare from Sam.

“Dean!” the woman said excitedly. “Haven't seen you in a while! I'd get up to hug you but I'd fall over.”

That made the oldest Winchester laugh, and then walk over to the couch to hug her, trailing Cas behind him. When he stood up, he said, “Amelia, this is Cas. Cas, this is my brother's wife, Amelia, who is much too good for him, and we still haven't figured out why she stooped to that level.” His tone made it clear that he was kidding.

Cas reached to shake her hand, but she opened her arms. “C'mere, you're family now. Hugs are mandatory,” she told him, making him blush, but he didn't disagree. 

* * *

 

Dinner was take-out from a dinner a few blocks over that Amelia had been craving, and Dean had to admit the burger's were really good.

“Thank you guys for doing this,” Sam told them gratefully while they ate.

Dean reached over and stole one of is fries. “No problem, little brother. What else is family for except running errands for demanding, pregnant women.” He easily ducked the throw pillow that Amelia tossed at him, but it hit Cas in the shoulder. That lead to a quick round of apologies that had Dean rolling his eyes. 

* * *

 

Dean and Cas slept on the pull out sofa that night, and the next morning Sam helped them lay down painters tape in what would in the near future be the nursery before leaving for work. The walls were already white, from when Amelia was still able to climb the stairs and help Sam paint, so all Dean and Cas had to do was go over it in the bright yellow that the happy couple had chosen.

They painted all morning, working side-by-side in near-silence. At lunch they took a break, and Dean would've liked a beer, but soda was good, too.

Amelia went into labour that afternoon, just after they'd finished painting and were standing back to admire their work. They called Sam and then drove her to the hospital, both men panicked and unsure of what to do.

Little Mary Winchester was born around twenty-four sleepless, caffeine-fueled hours later. It was another hour before Dean and Cas met her, since they were giving Sam and Amelia some time alone. Sam brought the baby to them when Amelia fell asleep. His eyes were red but he was grinning ear-to-ear.

“She looks like you, when you were born,” Dean said quietly as he held the little bundle.

“She's beautiful,” Cas remarked from behind Dean's shoulder. 

* * *

 

They stayed with the new family for only as long as it took to finish the nursery and then they got out of the way as fast as possible. After another long plane ride, they were home. And it was weird, Dean thought, that this place was 'home' when his flesh-and-blood family was so far away.

When they were woken up at two AM by Dean's broken radiator, they lay in silence for a while, arms wrapped around each other.

“One day,” Cas started slowly, “hypothetically, would you want children?” he asked quietly, trying not to break the mood.

Dean was silent as he thought about it, surprised that he was being asked at all. Before answering, he shifted awkwardly, though that was hard with a heavy weight on his chest. “I... yeah, probably.”

Cas shifted along with him and ended up with his face smooshed into Dean's ribs instead of resting on his stomach, as it had been before. “Me, too,” he murmured against his skin.

And Dean wasn't so confused as to why he called this place home.


End file.
